Life on A Geek's Life

Coming Up for Air

Fri, 29 Mar 2024 11:31:00 +0000

It seems as though scarcely a blink has passed, yet somehow it is the end of March, a quarter of the year having sped past. Winter, a not particularly difficult one as I recall, has been and gone. Incessant rain interspersed with sunshine, longer days and the first sight of flowers blossoming all point to spring on the horizon, and how have I needed that! There is also the small matter of a milestone of sorts - four months in the new gig. A semblance of routine has taken root: Monday night flights to the continent, three days of hard work, and a late return to London on Thursday nights, followed by some work from home on Fridays.

Beginning Again

Sat, 10 Feb 2024 11:34:00 +0000

Turning forty four sometime last year (where did the time go) seems to have been a trigger for thoughts about legacy rising to the fore in my mind, the end result of which was packing up my bags and swapping the sand dunes for Surrey. The decision being made, it still took the better part of six months to execute; lining up something this side of the dunes, rolling up the detritus of 1200 days of life and navigating notice periods amongst other things. Tnere was a lot of hand wringing, offer/counter offer and a little bit of emotional blackmail (of the good sort) but in the end what had to be done had to be done and I was on a flight heading bacck to good old Blighty.

44: Legacy

Tue, 29 Aug 2023 12:28:00 +0000

The year of being 43 was meant to be the Year of Disciplined Execution, drawing from the Sean Covey book, namely : focus on the wildly important, act on the lead measures, keep a compelling scorecard and create a cadence of accountability. Looking back it is fair to say delivery on this was middling at best, with both high and low lights, summarised below:

Highlights

Daily Bible App story helped me maintain a semblance of devotional life
Highest ever plant performance ranking at work in several categories, increased recognition at the plant of my M&C skills with several key solutions delivered
Good earnings supplemented by decent performance in the stock markets
Greater clarity around the next type of role for me: stay in Upstream M&C Corrosion Management, not necessarily projects etc
Offered roles at bp and Shell after rigorous interviews, great boost to the morale that I can still mix it with the good guys
Bonding with L, despite the distance and intermittent visits from me

Lowlights

Weight stayed high, didn’t manage to bring it down to the low 90s as anticipated
Health was middling, a number of developing issues to keep a eye on as I transition into my late forties
Beginning to feel like I am in a rut at my current job
Didn’t blog/ write as much as I would have wanted

44: Legacy

For the next run around the sun, the word which has bubbled to the fore of my mind is Legacy. It is one which has guided the core of my activities and decisions over the past few years albeit without being explicitly expressed. In a sense, it is a continuation of the Year of Disciplined Execution, as Legacy and its underpinnings should drive the definition of what is wildly important which is then executed in a disciplined manner. Legacy is also inextricably linked to the three interaction clusters of my life plan, personal, professional and public. Of particular importance for me in this context then is being healthy in every dimension of my life whilst adding value in each of those three clusters.

Three Fridays of Summer

Fri, 28 Jul 2023 21:04:00 +0000

Never one to miss the opportunity proffered by a long weekend, I drag myself and my back pack in the wee hours of the morning of the 27th to the airport to catch two flights - first to Dubai and then to London. The third trip of the sort this year, it is my ongoing attempt to manage this year of distributed domestication, one in which S and L having returned to London for good I am left shuttling back and forth every few months. Unlike the last time, I do not run into anyone I know, for which I am thankful for the company of Ike Anya’s Small by Small. Beautifully short and deeply evocative of my own memories of growing up, I find myself going down mental rabbit holes, fleshing out the (typically) well written prose with my own experiences. Not being of a medical persuasion myself - engineering saved me from all that - the extensive overlap with friends and family does leave me with enough knowledge to appreciate his specific travails. with the memories of growing up on a university campus it drew in.

Sod's law

Sat, 08 Apr 2023 10:02:00 +0000

I may have waxed lyrical about taxis too soon, and in so doing vexed the taxi demi-gods, which is the only explanation of how on the one day I needed a taxi badly, I ended up with a guy who barely spoke English and whose understanding of Google Maps was minimal at best. Well, that or [Sod’s Law](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sod's_law](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sod's_law). The fault lay, at least partly, with me. It had been my first full day back at work since the beginning of Ramadan and my hunger addled brain failed to register the fact that the bus which would ferry me back from the middle of nowhere which was my work station for that day would arrive 30 minutes earlier than usual. On the phone to the taxi dispatcher, he explained that the earliest he could get someone out to me was an hour and thirty minutes, which seeing as I had no choice I accepted. Although he had my location, he somehow ended up at a site thirty minutes away. There was much hand wringing, and plenty more oohs and ahhs when he finally turned up, a full two hours later than had first been envisaged. I could only sit and fester for the whole of the 45 minute back to semi-civility and the comfort of my couch. Truth me told, umbrage is a luxury only those who have choices can take. I still hold the view that taxi rides are underated delights, the one caveat though is that there isn’t an insurmountable language barrier.

43. Disciplined Execution

Fri, 19 Aug 2022 06:04:02 +0000

The Year of Being 42 went reasonably well, all things considered. I survived another swing around the sun out in the corner of the world I am now, with a sense of acceptance beginning to predominate. There are still days on which I ask myself why / how I ended up here but whatever misgivings I have tend to recede at month end. In this regard Re:Think, which was the theme for last year was useful, aided by the status game lens, picked up from reading the book of the same name by Will Storr. His argument, that we are all (created, evolved?) to play social status games has been useful for clarifying things both in a work and relational context. I now know that my primary game is one of success. I used to think that I was driven by the inner prestige bestowed by being a purveyor of niche, technical subjects in the workspace. The reality , as I am finding, is that the raw numbers at the end of the month are intensely motivating, not least if the costs of diapers, baby milk and toys are anything to go by. I am definitely not a player in the (physical) dominance or (spiritual/ moral) virtue status game. A highlight of the year has got to be having L & S out with me for the greater part of eight months or so. For all the late nights, befuddlement at my inability to contextually interpret tears and the feeling of being run into the ground, the appreciation of just how much effort goes into child care is one that I will go away with. Rethinking is not done by any means though, rather it feels like it will be a recurring decimal in my life for a long time yet.

Under the Surrey Sun

Fri, 12 Aug 2022 10:32:14 +0000

Time as a trickster of sorts is a theme I find myself coming back to again and again, the key motif being how in the moment life and time can seem like drudgery, but when viewed from the vantage point of hindsight it can seem compressed, like a video watched at 2x speed. My thoughts as I packed up my bags and began to prepare for the short hop back were very much in that vein, not helped I suspect by the long hard year I had had. Between L, her boundless energy and various work related niggles, I was running on empty for the final few weeks before I left. Awaiting me on the other side - in addition to reintegrating myself back - were a big house move, and the mother of all Nigerian parties on the other side of town. If there was any anticipation, it was hope that I would finally get to sink my teeth into a juicy burger, indulge in all the bacon and sausages I could manage, and hop along to the odd Parkrun. As it turns out, all of my fears - and none of the things I was looking forward to - materialized.As is its wont, Reality and expectation never quite matched up.

Flies, Storms and The Sense of An Ending

Tue, 31 May 2022 02:21:33 +0000

Photo by Matthieu Joannon on Unsplash

The heat hangs heavy on the head, the way a wet blanket only partially wrung dry after being pounded by feet in a washbasin hangs listlessly in a barely-there breeze. The short afternoon walks to the canteen, to grab some combination of a salad, chicken and rice is beginning to feel like a chore, not helped by the sand which has become a permanent fixture it seems. Some days G and I wonder if the haze is from fog or dust but the loud whirl of my air purifier settles it for me; dust it is - that most irritating kind that finds its way through every tiny crinkle in our armour, covering everything with a fine layer of brown. Not far away in their ubiquity are the flies which flit around everything, their persistent buzz the soundtrack to life in these baking summer months. With Ramadan behind us, it is the season of long vacations and every other day it seems someone else in the wider team disappears for a few weeks. My turn to disappear is in about a month, and for the first time in a long time, I am looking forward to kicking back, waking up at my leisure then sticking L in her stroller and grabbing brunch with real bacon. Adding a few more Parkruns to my total - with maybe one push for a new PB - would be a welcome bonus.

Coming Up For Air

Sun, 27 Mar 2022 02:27:35 +0000

Photo by Max van den Oetelaar on Unsplash

It feels somewhat trite, given what is afoot in the world, to be riled up about life in my gilded prison corner of the world. The Ukraine and Russia conflict looms large of course, but for all the outpouring of support - and some might say posturing - it feels more like a cause célèbre, than anything else. As others have pointed out thousands more have lost their lives in Yemen,. The Iraq and Afghanistan wars were hardly less gruesome for ordinary civilians. Closer home, it seems like Nigeria teeters more on the edge of imploding, with power, security and the general hardship levels all running away in the wrong direction. Of course, concurrent occurrences of bad things does not make any of them less ‘bad’. One can only hope that the energies expended in mobilizing and blanketing the air waves with the plight of Ukrainians is also extended to other (blacker and browner) bodies.

500 Leagues under the Sun

Fri, 12 Nov 2021 12:15:00 +0000

Photo by Kenza Benaouda on Unsplash

Of the things that still irk me, more than a year into my Arabian Odyssey, the sheer inefficiencies which seem baked into the system stand out for particular ire. Case in point: this past week to spend ten minutes picking up a letter from my employer and then delivering it at a government office fifteen kilometres away, I had to drive 250+kilometres. To my mind, it is something that can and should dare I say, be managed via an online portal but I found to my pain that this was not the case. It is no wonder then that in the short space of over a month I have driven just shy of three thousand kilometres, mainly between my outpost in the middle of nowhere, work (twice), the big city next door (multiple times) and the occasional trip to the provincial capital for some government thing or the other twice too.

At the Centre of Things

Fri, 05 Nov 2021 14:06:00 +0000

Image Source: The Guardian

Every waking minute of the past few weeks it seems has been filled with some nursery rhyme or the other, so much so that deep in my less wakeful moments, I have caught myself humming along to some tune or another. Chief of them has to be the ten in a bed one where a particularly bossy kid shoos off the others who end up in a pile beside the bed nursing various bumps and scrapes. Sometimes it has felt like there are an infinite number of ways this can happen, although the mathematics suggest that there is only one way to do that, if that particular order is maintained. All of this is long way to say that L is very much at the centre of things with sleep, if I can go out for a run in the morning and other such mundane things very much dependent on what state she wakes up in.

42: Rethink

Sat, 30 Oct 2021 18:34:57 +0000

Rodin’s Le Penseur. Image from the US National Gallery of Art

When I set about thinking about the year of being forty, it seemed a no-brainer that it would be centred around delving deeper. The premise was that as the worst kind of failure is one of depth, actively looking to ensure I had depth in all critical aspects of my life was key as I came into my decade of being forty something. As to why I think failures of depth are the most critical, I think that both the one who fails and the one who is failed are left with the lingering after taste of what might have been. For one, the chance of a lifetime disappears before it even begins. For the other the time and energy expended/ invested ends up being for nothing. Both face the opportunity costs, lost irretrievably. For the year of being forty-one, rebuild better was the key, given COVID and how it had intervened specifically in my life with regards to a new job.

Still Water...

Mon, 04 Oct 2021 17:16:09 +0000

For The Sunday Muse prompt #180:

We come to water to be washed and be reborn, this hand cupping the curvature of the face, the other dipped, drenched in the very fluid from which we come, the space between the fingers of that hand filled with the water, straining against the strictures of the hand.

We come to water to lose ourselves in the beauty of the simple things, to see the dirt of our days and the detritus of the night loosen, dissolving until we see ourselves pristine whole again, the way we have imagined in our dreams a lip, an eye, lingering still in the mirror of still water.

Faces...

Sat, 07 Aug 2021 18:36:10 +0000

It struck me the other day that even after a year out here, there are still work colleagues whose faces I have not seen without masks on. Arriving in the middle of the pandemic, masks were required in all public spaces - and rigorously enforced - with more than a few people cited for either having theirs pulled down or not wearing one as they approached the security gates and barriers that dot the landscape. Only when I then see a face without a mask does it register that I have made up the hidden contours, seeing the mask as an integral part of these faces. This brings with it a mild sense of discomfort, stemming from - I think - the fact that even though I have built relationships and friendships with these people, their uncovered faces scream unknown rather than familiar.

Being Prodigal: An Origin Story

Fri, 25 Jun 2021 06:51:34 +0000

–

I trace the beginnings of my faith journey to Easter of 1992, the enduring image of the day being standing alongside forty or so other people at the front of the bare, minimally decorated Assembly Hall of the College of Education Ekiadolor. I was there because I had been dragged there by my parents; there being an Easter conference put on by the student Christian movement my parents spent a lot of their spare time supporting. Besides my irritation at being taken along — and thus losing the few days of freedom from parental supervision - responding to an altar call along with the others whilst sobbing profusely is the only thing I remember from the events of the weekend. That would not be the last time I would respond - or pray a similar prayer for that matter - but the sense of relief, joy and confidence about the future which followed that day is why I come back to that place as the definitive start of my spiritual journey. The sense of elation lasted for all of three weeks as I recall, but the sense that something happened that day is one I have never truly shaken off.

Spring, Shamals and the Aftermaths of Vaccination

Fri, 05 Mar 2021 18:50:00 +0000

\\\*

The memories of the days are beginning to disappear into a haze, each one a maelstrom of activity that begins with waking with a dull, lingering sense of dread and ending the same way it began, only with a sense of battle weary tiredness layered on. One day it is Sunday, and then suddenly it seems like it is Tuesday and then Thursday - brings respite - only for it all to begin again; wash-rinse-repeat. The good thing is that somehow it is the beginning of March, and each day that passes quickly brings the arrival of that symbol of the worker’s Faustian pact, a salary, another day closer. In my more sanguine moments, I remind myself that for all my bellyaching, there are far worse things to moan about in the world than work.

'Big' Man coming, and finally getting my Abu Name

Fri, 05 Feb 2021 18:01:00 +0000

The bare, Spartan space just outside my window - which I can just see if I crane my neck a little just beyond its normal range - is just that, barely noticeable. At least it was until a few days ago when swivelling in my chair, the profusion of reds and yellows it has become caught my eye. So certain was I that the flowers were new that at an opportune moment, when I could pretend it was a casual question, I asked one of the guys to confirm. It turns out that I was right, the flowers had not always been there. The coming of a certain big man in a couple of days had prompted the ground staff into sprucing up our surroundings. I am thankful for the splash of colours which will remain with us for a bit at least, but what I came away with was the sense that big men everywhere carried weight. It is a truism, as an old teacher liked to say.

Sparks, Dark sides and Musings on Sight

Fri, 29 Jan 2021 20:29:00 +0000

\\\*

The sparks have quite literally been flying, not for reasons of passion but for the more mundane fact that winter and the very low humidity have resulted in fairly significant amounts of static electricity build up on everything. More times than I care to remember over the past few weeks, I have had the sometimes unexpected displeasure of a substantial shock. I am much more careful now, taking the time to touch walls and other non-metallic objects to dissipate some of the build up. S insists that my refusal to moisturise often, and liberally, is a contributor to this - a google search seems to suggest she is right in some way. The jury is still out on that one I think, but I am leaning towards getting a humidifier, if and when I can sort out travel to the city next door.

What It means when I step into the shower with my glasses on...

Tue, 26 Jan 2021 18:38:00 +0000

Photo by Hermes Rivera on Unsplash. For The Poetic Asides prompt #554

Sometimes I think

that my sight is leaving me,

the common, quotidian comfort

of seeing the world that touches me

slowly slipping away, taking flight

but not yet gone; only a little less close

the next time morning rolls my way.

Maybe it is my mind forgetting

where the thin discs

of shimmering glass

that bring the light end,

and where my rods and cones

COVID Days

Mon, 25 Jan 2021 18:23:00 +0000

The other country both enthrals and frustrates me in equal measure, which I’m sure is no news to most others who like me have a foot in both worlds. The events of the past few weeks have left that tension in sharp relief for me in the form of two members of my extended family coming to terms with COVID. That they were in two very different parts of the country only served to underscore how dire the situation could be, the influence and contacts with people of authority in the medical establishments - nay death traps - they spent most of their with time in counting for very little in the overall scheme of things. They are out of the woods now, for which we are all thankful, though the bitter after taste - and light pockets - lingers. One wonders how much hope the common man still has in the event of a medical emergency back there.

On A Return to the Reassurance of Routine

Fri, 08 Jan 2021 08:24:00 +0000

Photo by ian dooley on Unsplash

In the early hours of the holiday season, it looked like I would spend the bulk of it virtually, the hours a blur of Zoom and WhatsApp video calls. Sometime on the 26th though, my luck changed. I woke up to the persistent sound of my door buzzer. I was half minded to not answer it, given multiple experiences with the gardening folk looking for more work. The door ringer wouldn’t leave and I needed to return to sleep so I dragged myself downstairs to the door. A pleasant surprise greeted me there; the neighbour from a street over stood there with a tub of fried rice and a bottle of wine - of the non-alcoholic kind of course. As it turns out, he remembered there was a lone Nigerian dude across the road with no family nearby and thought to extend some Christmas cheer my way. The rice and meat were wolfed down over the course of the day, saving me the hassle of wondering what to have on the day. Two more invites came my way over the next few days, resulting in my wolfing down some pounded yam and afang soup (the first time since my Eket days) and some pepper soup and snails on the other day. For all my quibbles with being a prodiga l Nigerian, and being around Nigerians, moments like these remind me that redemption lurks in there somewhere. My experiences of fellow prodigals have been overwhelmingly positive. I wonder though, if they are a self-selecting group.

The Year In A Song (or Two)

Sun, 27 Dec 2020 10:35:00 +0000

In keeping with last year, I thought I’d go through the list of songs Spotify thought I listened to the most from my 2020 playlist to try to tease out some themes and recollections behind them. Here goes:

Fighting For Us - Anthony Evans: I popped into a church end of year event in Croydon at the behest of my friend O, where Anthony Evans did this song amongst others. It turned out that he’d just lost his Mother to cancer which put his turning up at all into perspective. I came back to this song quite a few times over the course of the year.

Coming Up For Air

Fri, 11 Dec 2020 13:45:00 +0000

Based on a photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash

That doing and not doing are both habits is something that I have come to grudgingly accept over the past month, seeing as the longer I was away from here the harder dragging myself back here seemed. In my defence real life has been manic, the stultifying pressures of time-sensitive deliverables not lending themselves to the pursuit of non-essential, creative pursuits. I have myself to blame for some of that pressure, seeing as I somehow thought fitting a poem a day challenge into everything I had going on would be doable. I made it through fourteen days of that - a minor miracle at least. With some breathing space coming up towards the end of the month, my hope is to go back over the prompts, edit, write some more, and begin the process of pulling some of the pieces together into a chap book for the evaluators in January 2020.

Fall-ish

Fri, 09 Oct 2020 15:43:00 +0000

\\\*

We woke up to a grey, watery mist rolling in the other day, a state of affairs which had me wondering for a few seconds if I had somehow ended up in good old Blighty. That was before the heft of air weighed down by 26-degree heat hit me in the face as I made my way to the bus stop. By the time we rolled into work, everything was shrouded in a thick, soupy, fog with visibility all but gone. It had all boiled away by 10 am though, with things returning to the way they always were: bone dry, warm with clear skies. Fog was not something I expected to encounter out here, although the roadsigns which show a 15km/hr speed limit in fog should have been a clue.

Fits, Starts and a Dim View (of Humanity)

Fri, 25 Sep 2020 19:07:37 +0000

I have now been out here for just over eighty days, days which have sometimes felt like they have been punctuated by starts and stops. There were the two weeks of self-quarantining in which nothing seemed to happen, then a two day week occasioned by the Eid al-Adha holidays, and most recently a three day week for the National Day Holidays. Though somewhat an accident of timing, I have been grateful for the opportunities to break the monotony of work; up by 4 am, on a bus by 6 am, back home by 5 pm wash-rinse-repeat, and the gifts holidays sometimes bring, like a large tray of meat I got during the previous Eid holidays.

Decluttering

Thu, 17 Sep 2020 14:21:28 +0000

Photo by Lindsey LaMont on Unsplash

I finally got round to migrating my contacts to my local phone, the process of downloading them from one account to a new one the last grudging act of acceptance at being here, a signal as it were of the finality of moving. It felt great to be able to do all I use my phone for - WhatsApp, podcasts, ebooks and all - from one device. What I did not bargain for was the trip down the rabbit hole of memory that exercise would be.

Got 'Til its (Kinda) Gone

Fri, 11 Sep 2020 22:08:51 +0000

The less common variant of the “Where are you from” question I get comes from the unconventional way my surname is spelt. Family folklore suggests that my great-grandfather, whether in a fit of pique or an attempt to be contrarian - no one is certain which it is, took his rather mundane Yoruba name, replaced a couple of vowels with consonants, and declared himself unique. To this day when I ‘goggle’ myself, every reference is to someone I know and have met, bar a frankly confusing article that includes TB Joshua, Togo and Canada. Make of that what you will.

Forty-One

Fri, 28 Aug 2020 02:12:44 +0000

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

It was my birthday the other day, and in keeping with what is becoming a tradition of sorts, I spent the morning wading through a flurry of WhatsApp and text messages before a fairly lengthy video call with the niece who I almost share a birthday with. The rest of the day was spent off-grid, which has become one of the more enjoyable parts of the day. I don’t remember when the need to unplug on the day first came to the fore but I am finding that in the aftermath of all of that mental stimulation, some downtime is helpful. As I have reflected on here before, the five weeks between the 8th of July and the 15th of August tend to be emotionally draining ones. Dealing with a move - which is quite frankly a culture shock of sorts - has only added to that this year.

Vices, Spices and A Question of Identity

Fri, 21 Aug 2020 22:15:12 +0000

Photo by Timothy L Brock on Unsplash

For all S’s protestations to the contrary, it is my contention that there are far worse vices than playing Football Manager. On the odd occasion, when I am caught off-guard, I’ll admit the arguments for this can be tenuous at best but I sincerely believe there is a cachet attached to being this particular brand of a connoisseur.

Home, families and when spouses and children will get moved out here are typical subjects of conversation whilst waiting for the bus, which was how I ended up having such a conversation with a fellow commuter a few days ago. Time zones and staying in touch were the twin topics of interest on the day. My two-hour difference is hardly the sort of stuff to sweat over but in his early days, he had an eight-hour time difference to manage, difficult given the need to balance that with getting enough sleep and waking up in time to be on the bus at 6.00 am. Things were a lot simpler for him now he said, thanks to his family’s move back to their home town of Plovdiv. Perhaps my eyes lit up with recognition at the name, but somehow he figured out I recognised the name. I did, of course, thanks to some obscure Football Manager save, in which I ended up taking Brentford from the English Championship to the Champions League group stage via a two-leg qualifier against Botev. Inspired by all the football kicking about of late, I thought I’d reinstall it and have a few turns. The 821 hours I have apparently spent playing the 2015 version was an awakening of sorts (refusing to upgrade is the one act of self-discipline I have allowed myself in this regard). 821 hours seems like a lot of time to spend in a make-believe world of pretending to be Klopp, Nagelsmann or whoever is the latest managerial wunderkind, but on this evidence, some real-world value is there to be had, the geography of weird and wonderful places.

Getting My Finger Out

Fri, 07 Aug 2020 16:13:40 +0000

Photo by Reiseuhu on Unsplash

I am finding myself drawn again to the radio and to the BBC World Service- not the physical box itself but the BBC Sounds app which my VPN allows me access - and in doing so, all sorts of memories come flooding back. Many moons ago, when I was nearer ten than thirty, the World Service was my companion on many a hot, humid day with not a lot to do. Programs such as Off The Shelf, Wright Around The World, various radio dramas and the bumper Saturday sports package which sated my Liverpool fixation in the days before colour TV (never mind satellite TV) came to my corner of the world, all came to define that era for me.

A Lift off of sorts...

Tue, 04 Aug 2020 04:25:16 +0000

Image Source: Rajab Guga on Unsplash

According to the Book of Proverbs King Solomon, who knew a thing or two about hope and despair once said - whether in despair or merely noting in a manner of fact way - that Hope deferred makes the heart sick, and for the last three months and some I feel like I have known just that; lurching — sometimes several times a day — between the delirious joy of looking forward to an adventure and the deep depths of despair. COVID-19 was the culprit, as were the not entirely unconnected issues of an oil supply glut and oil price wars leading to sub-zero oil futures pricing. That there was a clear cause-effect relationship did little to tame the perennial desire to find wider meanings in things that is our forte as Nigerians, cue warfare prayers from my near and dear ones, a la Mountain of Fire and all.

Ten Questions: An Inner Interrogation

Mon, 27 Jul 2020 02:02:05 +0000

A Poets & Writers prompt from a few months ago asked us to explore ourselves by using the ten questions guests on the TV show, Inside the Actor’s studio, are asked. A few months late here goes my response:

What is your favourite word? This would have to be ‘Quotidian’, a word I’ll admit to first hearing from Chris Abani’s 2008 TED Talk. Between the man, his work and the heft of the word, it is my favourite word, one I once made the theme of an entire blog. )
What is your least favourite word? Like, when it is used as an immensely irritating filler word.
What turns you on? Boobs and brains. I’m partial to a well-spoken, well-read damsel with a great rack, cload in something just slingy enough to highlight the cleavage a wee bit. :) I’ve clearly thought too much about this…. Like this, which I’ll have to admit is disturbingly specific.. :)
What turns you off? A nag..
What sound or noise do you love? I love the sound of rain on a tin roof, maybe a throwback to growing up in Nigeria and the freshness that a thunderstorm brings, washing dust and dirt away. A tin roof speaks of solidity and shelter I think, and the sound of hearing the rain rage outside whilst I’m safe within is one I love.
What sound or noise do you hate? Dripping water. I suppose it is a counterpoint to rain, not least because dripping water drips in that annoying way, never quite making up its mind whether to be unleashed in a torrent or to just stop. Neither hot nor cold in a manner of speaking to use a Revelations metaphor.
What is your favourite curse word? Fecking, like fucking but maybe less in your face?
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Medicine, psychiatry or family medicine. How close I came I’d never know but both my sisters ended up towing that path and have quite succeeded at it I’d say.
What profession would you not like to do? Policing, politics, and the pulpit…
If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates? Could you have made your existence a little bit clearer and helped us understand our origins? What was all that cloak-and-dagger stuff about?

The Diary: Jacqueville By The Sea

Wed, 15 Jul 2020 20:31:19 +0000

This has been sitting in my drafts for several months, so I thought I’d try to finish it off and post it here as a means to making use of the time I have on my hands.

If there is a silver lining to being a terrible sleeper it is that I usually manage to wake up in time for things, typically before my alarm rings. The blips on that record are increasingly regular - and spectacular - like this past weekend when I slept through multiple alarms. When I finally woke up (having failed to do so to the alarm on my phone and on my watch), it was ten minutes before my taxi was due, cue half-brained rushing about to splash some water on my face, brush my teeth and grab my travel bags. By the time that was done, there were already two missed calls from the taxi driver and the company on my phone. There was, I thought, a hint of irritation on the driver’s face when I finally emerged. All of that disappeared once we were on the way, and speeding, to the airport. The usual chit-chat revealed he had passed through the corner of West Africa I was headed for many years ago, and that he was Latvian, not that anyone could have guessed from his near-perfect Aberdonian accent. Scrambling for change at the airport, he waived the additional £1.20, helped me with getting my bags out of the car trunk and then promptly disappeared for the next gig. Bag drop and security took ten minutes at that time of the morning, by which time I was barely lucid and grateful for the cup of black coffee I poured myself once I was into the lounge. I was the first of my work party to arrive, which gave me some time to settle in and breathe a little, before the incessant chit-chat and mindless prattle began. It was a good thing I managed to catch my breath because the chit-chat, when it began, focused on the prospect of my leaving for greener pastures - being a traitor to the cause was the good-natured accusation thrown about. In those days before the oil price tanked, there were stirrings of growth and opportunities and I was only the latest in a long line of folk who had either left or were in the process of leaving. To cut costs, we had somehow engineered a tight connection at Charles de Gaulle, our turn around time being a grand total of ninety minutes plane to plane which left us hands full, running almost full pelt through the airport. We made it with some time to spare in the end and were delayed by a further hour for reasons unknown to us, all of which left me internally cursing the necessity of the awfully early start. We found out in the end that the delay was due to a deportation order being served on someone, cue police and immigration and all the malarkey that comes with those.

Hitting Reset: Some thoughts on adapting for a post-oil world

Mon, 06 Jul 2020 16:38:06 +0000

Photo by Jose Antonio Gallego Vázquez on Unsplash

** When I reflected on life at the turn of the year, and wondered what the year would be for me, Delve Deeper came to mind. Behind that was the understanding, inspired in part by the Parable of the Wise and Foolish Builders, that everything worth its salt is tested, and only those which had roots sunk deep would survive. I was also on the cusp of quitting my job up north with the prospect of the move of a lifetime looming. Whatever your particular take on COVID-19 is — elaborate hoax, a pretext for instituting a new world order or a symptom of a broken world — what is incontrovertible is that in its wake has come a seismic change to the world and what we know of it. For all the preening, posturing and the facade of strength the world economies have presented, 2020 has shown it all up like an edifice built on shifting sands to use a biblical metaphor. The Emperor’s new clothes, for all we can see, are anything but a covering.

The Diary: The Joy In Small Things

Fri, 29 May 2020 12:15:27 +0000

\\\* Seemingly like in the blink of an eye – like play like play in the pidgin English of my youth – we are somehow at the end of May! Summer is finally here, bringing in its wake the realisation that if I had stayed up North, the first of my Nine Fridays of Summer would have just gone past. As it is though, I find myself in an intermission of sorts, loitering in the space between a past life and the future in which an adventure in the sun hovers just out of reach, 70 days late. There are of course worse things than swapping grey granite for verdant green or being cooped up with family, like dying or very nearly dying like so many people, including a few closer to home for me, have over the past few months of this pandemic.

On Leaving

Mon, 11 May 2020 18:24:34 +0000

Of the many conversations I have had over the past few years, one sticks out in my mind, not for its length or its importance but for how odd it felt at the time. As I recall it, a travelling salesman and I had just finished a meeting and were heading to the kitchenette at work to drop our coffee mugs off when he asked: “How did you end up here?”.

September

Mon, 01 Oct 2018 18:29:28 +0000

beach\_morning

book

DataScienceConf

food\_CDI

food\_CDI2

lounge\_CDG

---

In the end September sped past,

A Sense of An Ending?

Fri, 24 Aug 2018 07:37:02 +0000

Spread out in various states of recline around a long table in the inner room of the Indian restaurant we have gathered in, I imagine we cast a scene not too dissimilar to [the last supper.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Last_Supper_(Leonardo_da_Vinci) Not only are we thirteen (ignoring for a moment that S is barely 9 months old), it is a last supper of sorts, pulled together to celebrate the two J’s, in these their final days up here before they up sticks and move to study not too far off from ground zero in America’s bible belt. That we’ve plopped for Indian cuisine is perhaps a slight oddity given all thirteen of us have African roots. I suspect it is more indicative of the paucity of suitable eating options than adventure, which is why phones come out when it is time to order; google comes to the rescue. All that drags out the ordering process, which has a knock on effect on when we get our food.

Winging It

Thu, 02 Aug 2018 11:54:10 +0000

I am seating in a meeting, listening to the folk around the table drone on about some subject now lost to memory when it hits me – in the way I imagine an out of body experience might – just how much of what is often dressed as expert opinion is little more than strongly expressed opinion. Far from thumbing my nose down at others, it is a farce I very much consider myself as a contributor to. That sense of winging it, making things up as I go along, is one which has come to define the first half of the year for me; from the vagaries of the aforementioned work situation to the minutiae of doing life, spread as it has been between the grey, dull granite of the ‘Deen and the leafy, colour-suffused greenery of the Wey country.

Begin Again

Fri, 20 Jul 2018 01:22:16 +0000

It feels as good a time as any to begin to think about beginning again, what with it being the start of the second half of the year (and there being no scientific basis for determining that this point on the earth’s arc around the sun is any more an origin than say 10.53 am on April the 16th). That it is bang in the middle of a particularly emotive season - bookended by H’s birthday and mine, with her passing and her interment looming large over that six week period - also adds to that sense of an ending, and a need to draw a line in the sand and begin again.

Coming Up For Air

Tue, 27 Mar 2018 12:55:19 +0000

Photo by Zen Photographer on Unsplash

– Eat-sleep-work-walk; wash-rinse-repeat. This just about sums up the past six weeks for me, travel down south being one of the few brights spots in an otherwise humdrum existence. In that state the days blur into each other - the weekend when it comes offering scant relief - before being quickly subsumed by a new Monday morning and the start of a new cycle of drudgery. It is that time of the year when the final reports from last year are being reviewed and finishing touches made to the detailed plans for the new year’s work so there is little scope for escape.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Glow

Thu, 19 Oct 2017 17:57:12 +0000

More shimmer than glow but I suppose the view of the sea from the Beach Esplanade as I headed out to last Saturday’s Aberdeen Park Run counts. I am only five official runs in but it is very quickly becoming a key part of my Saturday mornings, when life allows me spend the weekend in the ‘Deen.

Next step the Baker Hughes 10k next year.

--- For the Wordpress Photo Challenge Prompt: Glow

Honour Thy Father

Tue, 17 Oct 2017 04:19:19 +0000

Image Source: (c)Nathan Anderson

–

It is to a stroke of fortune that I owe listening to the final episode of Malcolm Gladwell’s Revisionist History podcast three times over the last week. The first of the series of events which led to that was upgrading to iOs11 which messed up my podcasts, led me to seeking out Overcast as a replacement, and then having to decide on which ones to subscribe to or which to bin. That episode, Basement Tapes, explores a son’s reaction to finding out he has played a part in debunking to some of extent what has been the essence of his father’s work. The son, Robert Frantz is contacted out of the blue by a researcher, Chris Ramsden (Scientific American describes as the Indiana Jones of science), who is looking to acquire raw data from an experiment conducted by Robert’s father, Ivan, in Minnesota between 1968 and 1973. What results from Chris’s analysis of the data is a fundamental questioning of the conclusions of that study and the diet-heart hypothesis which claimed a linkage between a low saturated fat diet and the low blood cholesterol levels it produces and a reduction of the associated death rate (or adverse outcomes, as the study euphemistically puts it).

The S Files: Coming Up For Air

Tue, 26 Sep 2017 17:49:25 +0000

The morphing of what began as an interesting way to spend my summer Fridays last year into full scale wedding planning has left me feeling ragged and in need of a time out; the colours, people and costs involved being mind boggling for a bloke who has built the last few years of his life around his me time. Far from feeling like chickening out, I’m more grateful than miffed, seeing as becoming a husband and a father are key components of my life plan.

Being Thirty-Eight

Tue, 15 Aug 2017 17:34:45 +0000

It feels intuitively like the last year was my shittiest one yet - pardon my french - the sense being that all of the metrics which I have typically measured myself by are well south of where they should be. Most obvious is the flab around my waist, undeniable evidence that the 92kg reading on my scale is as factual as can be. There are other things of course, not least the sense of listlessness, the feeling of drifting and the increasingly dispassionate nature of my spiritual practice . A year ago I was certain that the year of being thirty seven would be my best one; the S bounce being a big part of that assessment. Reality though has been a less certain, more topsy turvy version of what I wanted it to be.

With Grace

Thu, 09 Feb 2017 19:39:59 +0000

For the prompt, Criticise.

To chide with Grace and Encourage, not criticise Everyday I pray.

Wandering, Wondering, Pondering

Tue, 31 Jan 2017 08:09:58 +0000

A damp squib of a day is perhaps as good as any to wrap up January, given how off script the weather has been. It used to be that loads of snow and travel disruptions were par for the course for this time of the year; neither happened. Even the threat of thunder snow - cold air from Canada invading our own Northern skies - failed to materialise, a few inches of snow and gale force winds being the worst of the lot.

22. (Not) Crying Wolf

Wed, 25 Jan 2017 17:34:14 +0000

Source

There is a lot I enjoy about my work, not least being a purveyor of the somewhat esoteric knowledge of materials and how they perform in a variety of service environments.

Most of the time I am advising, providing insights into what types of degradation can occur, how likely it is to progress and what actions we should be taking to assure ourselves of the future integrity of the kit we look after.

21. Routine

Tue, 24 Jan 2017 11:55:17 +0000

Two mornings during a typical work week, I make a pit stop at the Starbucks in Union Square.

Over the course of the last year, it has become apparent that quite a few people have a similar routine. I now recognise — and share the odd nod with — an older gentleman who usually arrives at the same time I do and unfailingly buys an espresso machiato which he proceeds to nurse for all of thirty minutes before shooting off to what I assume must be work.

19. Waiting

Sat, 21 Jan 2017 08:12:55 +0000

… For the flight to Manchester that will leads to a train to Sheffield and then a weekend of meeting S.’s folk….

Then the Wait, actively I suppose, for time and life to work its magic and meld these two journeys — separate, distinct but converging — into a coherent whole…

#Hopeful

18. Bubbles

Fri, 20 Jan 2017 08:27:00 +0000

Source: Wallpaper.com

I come upon them suddenly as I emerge from the arch on Peacock’s Close onto the parking lot. I have my headphones in as always, humming under my breath as I drag myself home, the combination of the low light , my tiredness and that they have their backs to the road being the reasons why we startle each other.

What becomes obvious when I eventually take in the scene is that they — a woman and a girl I can only assume are mother and child — have been taking turns at blowing bubbles and squealing in delight as the light wind drives them away towards the road.

17. Anticlimax

Thu, 19 Jan 2017 17:34:52 +0000

The promised snowcaplyse never quite materialised. At its worst in my corner of the world, it deposited a layer of snow all around, the result of the intermittent dribbles of snow and gale force winds. The effect of that, and the small rise in temperatures followed by a freeze which thawed the snow for a bit, was to leave slippery layers of black ice on the pavements; treacherous for us runners and brisk walkers. A friend did fare slightly worse, the small matter of a fortuitous gap between her car and the one in front of her being the difference between safety and a minor crash when she skidded on a patch of black ice.

15. Finding My Rhythm

Tue, 17 Jan 2017 17:59:02 +0000

Beach Boulevard, Aberdeen, 2016

One of the things I’m looking to achieve this year is to run a 10k race, which is why three to four times a week I grab my gear and hit the road. I use the MapMyRun app which paces me during the week from a leisurely 2k easy run on a Tuesday to a longer (now 5k+) run on the following Sunday.

As my run times improve and the distances lengthen, what I realise is that my natural predilection for just hitting go and running works fine for speed but works against my distance, as I am often far too winded to post a useful time once that initial burst of energy has fizzled out.

04. A Requiem for the Unseen

Thu, 05 Jan 2017 17:47:33 +0000

For the bank on the corner of King’s and Union which I pass everyday, only stopping to use its ATM on the odd occasion I need cash which has been closed for over a month. A closure I only noticed today because I needed cash.

Unseen.

03. On Writing and Life

Wed, 04 Jan 2017 19:47:08 +0000

The final days of the holidays- I am back at work on Friday — seem like a good time to put a dent in my reading plans for the year, which is how I finally get round to reading Ghana Must Go, an airport impulse buy whilst waiting to board a flight last summer.

A few pages in, I find myself wondering what the fuss about the book many years ago was about, steeling myself for a long, hard slog. By the time I am midway, I find myself pleasantly surprised by the pace and the sense of recognition its themes engender in me — grief, loss, growing up in an African home and the immigrant experience, being the chief ones.

2017 - The Objectives

Sun, 01 Jan 2017 08:04:53 +0000

The following are what I consider my main focus areas and objectives for 2017, derived from the Life Plan. A number of these are long running things I have failed to resolve over the years. Here’s hoping 2017 is a much better year.

The Life Goals Restated for visibility: 1. Be the best husband, father, brother, son and friend that I can be 2. Excel in the Corrosion, Materials and Asset Integrity Engineering Discipline 3. Live in, and contribute to life in, a great church and a great city

A Question of Gaps

Fri, 25 Nov 2016 04:42:33 +0000

I am big on putting together grand plans, ones which go to a great level of details to spell out the things I want to do and achieve. Where things have fallen down over the past few years has been in the application; the hard, long slog that is the doing needed to bring the plans to fruition. It would appear that in this regard I am like most people, particularly as this relates to New Year’s resolutions. This gap - this disconnect between what I want to do and what actually happens - is most obvious in the area of my spiritual practice. As an example, getting to a place where a daily time of prayer and bible study is embedded in my daily routine is one of the key things I have wished for over the course of the last few years. This has tended to be more a source of frustration than inspiration in my case, especially as these failings drive a sense of cognitive dissonance.

About Town: Tech, Taxis and Traipsing About The Tate

Thu, 17 Nov 2016 22:53:26 +0000

A first taxi ride since July, occasioned by an urgent need to head out into the wider ‘Shire for work, is how I end up in slowly moving traffic on Guild Street one Tuesday morning. As we inch along towards the first set of traffic lights, the announcer on the radio points out what is bleeding obvious to us - that there are long tail backs on our favoured route. The taxi driver, fingers tapping on the steering wheel in that understatedly impatient way the young and restless have, gives things a few minutes before he fires up his TomTom device to assess what our routing options are. It turns out the longer route is the better one on this occasion - his device predicting that it is the quicker one by ten minutes. Being stuck with him, I shrug when he asks if I mind his taking the route. I don’t suppose I have a lot of choice, besides hopping out of his taxi and legging it, or calling off my trip entirely. Once we are out of the snarling traffic and heading out towrds my destination, the incessant tapping stops, all his nervous energy perhaps being dissipated by the manoveuring he has had to do to get us out of our spot of bother.

The Burden of Grief

Fri, 11 Nov 2016 22:42:56 +0000

One of the lingering effects of H’s passing is that four times a year, I go through a phase where I especially struggle for words to share with my father. Although triggered by four specific days – her birthday (the 8th of July), their wedding anniversary (the 11th of November), the day she passed (the 19th of July) and the day she was buried (the 8th of August) – these tend to be long drawn out affairs affecting the days leading up to and the days after these days. The struggle takes various forms primarily centred on whether to call my father or not, and on the days when I manage to call him, what to talk about - to keep things as normal as possible or broach the difficult subject of H. He and I have never been the best of conversationalists - we’re much too similar for that – but these days make that tenuous relationship an even more difficult one, so much so that on most of these days, I have opted for not calling him in the end.

On Life, and A Song...

Wed, 02 Nov 2016 18:30:48 +0000

For the Wordpress Discover Challenge Prompt: Song

- -

1995 was an interesting time to be young and Christian. DC Talk, The Newsboys and Audio Adrenaline were at various stages in their evolution from being the niche interest of church youth groups to becoming recognisable by mainstream music lovers. Seemingly out of the blue, Christian Contemporary Music was on its way to acquiring a sort of coolness that the work of the likes of Larry Norman and Rich Mullins had deserved but somehow never achieved. In my corner of the world, Hosanna Music’s body of work was the rave, a slew of live worship albums including a couple recorded in post apartheid South Africa (Tom Inglis’We Are One and Lionel Petersen’s Rejoice Africa) building on a collection that included several offerings from the likes of of Ron Kenoly, Don Moen, Bob Fitts and Randy Rothwell.